Chat (2 page)

I star
ed at the clock on the cable box in my bedroom, willing the time to slow so I could get more than a few short hours of sleep. Despite my Masters in English Literature, and Jason’s Bachelor’s in Business Management, we both worked for the same insurance company within the gray-carpeted walls of cubicle land.

Well, mine was a cubicle. He had his own office with a door and everything, given his recent promotion to sales manager.

I had been worried that the new dynamic in our friendship- he being
my
boss- would pit us against each other, but he managed to be both fair and professional once we swiped our key cards and began our work days. After eight months of reporting to Jason, I realized that there was nothing better than working for your best friend.

“It’s because you’re not a fuck-off, San. You do your job, and you do it well.”

My first performance evaluation proved that he truly believed what he’d said. He was reasonable in his expectations, and made sure to provide any constructive feedback.

Wit
h Jason as my boss, Jack felt a little more secure in our relationship. He knew that Jason and I had tried dating once, in our late teens, and that it didn’t work out. When Jason got married last year, Jack nearly offered to pay for the wedding.

“You’re so excited for them,” I’d commented on the way home from the reception, and Jack grinned, reaching over to squeeze my knee.

“Of course I am. He’s your best friend, so I’m happy for him.”

Liar
, I wanted to shout. Though he refused to admit that my friendship with Jason made him insecure, I knew that it did.

He’d shown me.

And
Jason and Elaina’s marriage had lasted exactly four months.

I turned to beat my hands into my pillow, trying to get comfortable. I had a presentation to give at our meeting in the morning, and though I knew Jason would understand the dark circles under my eyes, I wanted to look at least presentable. At thirty-
four, I’d begun noticing little lines near my temples that were never there before. No matter how much I tried to stop squinting at the computer screens, I knew I needed to get my eyes checked…
especially
if a change in prescription was all I needed to prevent the dreaded crow’s feet.

I closed my eyes, remembering the rainy day that Jason had shown up at my window
to tell me his marriage was over.

Jack was in
Miami that time, and Jason had arrived with a fifth of Jim Beam, soaking wet. I ushered him inside and found him warm clothes, but I knew without him saying a word that it was done between him and Elaina. There had been no great cataclysmic event, no infidelity, no fight that culminated between them; she simply said “I don’t love you, after all.”

They’d only dated for
five months before he’d proposed to her.

Elaina was a semi-successful model, and she and Jason had met while she was filming a commercial for Driven Insurance.

“I should have known that she’d leave,” he’d finally said, after
Friday the 13
th
, Jason Takes Manhattan
. Since eighth grade, it’d become our tradition that after a break-up we would drown our sorrows in pizza, Sarsaparilla Cream Soda, and a Jason Voorhees marathon. We’d traded the cream soda for beer sometime after Max Grierson took my virginity and then dumped me two days later.

I could only hug him, my own heart breaking with his sorrow.
“How could you have known? When you give, you give
yourself
, Jason.”

He’d taken a long drink, turning the volume down as
credits rolled. “Whitman.”

“Yes, Whitman
’s quote. And it’s true, for you. You don’t hold anything back when you love someone. And if she changes you, I’m going to hunt her down, carve her up with a sickle, and sell her plastic tits for scrap.”

He’d laughed at that, but I meant every word.
Jason held nothing back when he fell for someone, and I knew that was what made him so attractive to the opposite sex. Well, that, and the fact that he looked like he’d stepped off a surfboard and into a boardroom. He had that fresh-air, sun kissed complexion, and, coupled with his careful diet and workouts, had the ability to send jaws hanging and panties dropping when he walked through the door.

I was used to his char
m and knew his mannerisms like the back of my hand, but it took one wink and one grin from Jason Brewer to make any girl feel like she was the only female in the room.

Now, he had his sights set on an author he’d never met.
Perceptively unattainable. Made sense, given that this would be the first time he’d shown any interest in dating again after Elaina left. As though he knew what I was thinking, my cell phone buzzed.

Brew
.
She wrote me back.

Me.
Sounds desperate.

Brew.
You’re getting bitter in your old age.

Me.
I’m TIRED.

Brew.
Calm down, shouty caps.
What should I say?

My fingers paused over my iPhone.

Me.
Well, what did she write back?

Brew.
She wrote this… Haha! Yes, I’m from Cincinnati. I’ll be doing a book signing in Cleveland. It’s sold out, but I have a ticket if you’d like to go.

I read his response twice before typing,
Any smileys this time?

Brew.
No

Me.
Hmm. She’s interested. Tell her sure, that sounds fun, and offer to pay for the ticket.

Brew.
Skinny white chocolate mocha, extra shot of espresso coming your way. Thanks babe.

Me.
Don’t forget the whip.

Brew.
I won’t. How many stars?

I smiled at our usually goodbye.

Jason’s little brother, Scott, was born when we were both nine. The night his parents were in the hospital, Jason slept over my house for the first time.

We camped out in the tent in my backyard, staring up at the netted window near the dome. W
e were so excited about the baby, neither one of us could fall asleep. Finally, I suggested counting the stars.

“
I’m gonna need two hundred stars before I fall asleep,” Jason had said, turning to face me.

“I’ll need
three
hundred,” I’d replied.

I smiled at the memory, texting quickly.

Me.
A half a star. I’m sleeping right now, in fact. SNORE.

Brew.
LOL. Night Boss. Thanks.

CHAPTER TWO

Jason

I could barely wait for Sandy to finish
her presentation, which I’d fondly labeled in our dry run “Death by Power Point.”

She followed me to my office, and I closed the door, immediately yanking at my tie. “You did a great job. The
results look much better than last month.”

“Cut the shit,” she
said with a grin, nodding toward my laptop. “Come on, what’d she say?”

I dropped to my desk chair, and she sat across the desk, turning my laptop screen more her way. I yanked it back, my eyes darting to the glass window near the door.

“I can’t show you here. But she’s twenty-six, single, and holy hell, San. I need your help.”

“You don’t need my help,” she scoffed, standing and tugging her skirt down before smoothing her crisp, white shirt. I took a second to appreciate how cute she was in her office outfit before crossing my arms over my chest and leaning back in the chair.

“Yeah I do. Listen, I’m going to send you a scene from her book. Since we’re keeping it to chat right now, I want to be prepared when things get hot.”

“
When?
” she mused, reaching for my small, orange basketball.

I held my hands up, and she tossed me the ball.
“When. And by when, I mean soon.”

“So, you want me to help you write a sex scene?” She arched one eyebrow, and I almost laughed at her expression. “We’ve been through some stuff, Brew.
Never this.”

“Come on,” I rolled my eyes, throwing the ball back to her.
“Just words. Letters smooshed together. Jack has nothing to worry about.”

She glanced at her dainty, silver watch, pursing her lips before twisting them thoughtfully. “Okay, send me the scene.
On Facebook, not text. I can barely read my phone as it is.”

I narrowed my eyes,
leaning forward on the desk. “I’m taking you to the eye doctor this evening. Call and get an appointment.”

“Jason-
”

“Don’t argue.
You could have a brain tumor. Or diabetes.”

She exhaled with laughter, throwing the ball at my head. I ducked, and it hit a stack of folders behind me. “Brain tumor? God! I’m sure I just need a new prescription. Why do you always think the worst?”

“Because if you say it, it’s not so scary,” I replied, nodding toward the door. “Call. I’ll buy you dinner too.”

She raised her eyebrows, obviously
interested. “Hibachi?’

“Whatever. Get back to work,” I replied, grinning, and she smiled before heading back into the hall. The black tights that she wore had a seam that
ran up the back of her leg. I narrowed my eyes and turned away, realizing I’d been staring for an inappropriate amount of time at her backside.

It had
to be a combination of the divorce, the steamy romance novel, and the flirting with Carissa. It’d been a long, long time since I’d caught myself staring at Sandy Quinn’s perfect little ass.

I immediately thought
about our senior prom, 1998. Sitting back, I continued to toss the ball into the air.

The theme was
“All My Life” by KC and JoJo, and I remember Sandy cracking a joke about it feeling like an entire lifetime was spent within the walls of Branyon High School.

Max
Grierson had dumped her two weeks before the prom- after convincing her to sleep with him- and I’d canceled my date with Katrina Wells to take her. Katrina had been the head cheerleader, and every clichéd part of the entire scenario unfolded before us like some kind of Beverly Hills, 90210 drama. She was pissed that I’d stood her up for Sandy, and proceeded to start a rumor that I’d gotten Sandy Quinn pregnant and we were getting married right after graduation.

When I rushed to her defense, Sandy stopped me, thoroughly enjoying Katrina’s little game. “If you play along with me,
I swear to God I’ll make it up to you,” she’d promised.

When I pulled up in the Quinn’s driveway in my 1992 Chevy Cavalier, I froze in mid-stride on their sidewalk.

Sandy’s prom dress was ivory with an empire-waist, and she’d done everything possible to make it look like she had an actual baby bump.

Mrs. Quinn was laughing her ass off at the door, and Mr. Quinn only rolled his eyes, joining my side from the garage.

“I swear to God, that girl belongs on stage. Thanks for taking her, Jason. Don’t let her embarrass you too much.”

I managed a half smile at her dad, shaking my head as I approached her with the corsage. “I can’t believe you. You’re such an asshole.”

“Shh! Don’t swear around the B-A-B-Y,” she chided, covering her stomach as though she was covering her ears.

“Have fun, kids,” Mrs. Quinn called, and I looked at her helplessly.

“Really? You’re going to let her do this?” I demanded.

“
Remember, no drinking, it’s not good for early development,” she replied.

“Molly,” Mr. Quinn growled, and then turned to me. “
Yeah, have a blast.”

We had
more
than a blast. We danced with our friends, and it quickly became obvious that Katrina had become the butt of the joke. After slow dancing to “You’re Still the One” by Shania Twain, we were both feeling the inevitable nostalgia of the years that had passed. The DJ had moved right into “Too Close” by Next, and for four minutes and seven fucking seconds, Sandy backed up on me and ground that perfect ass against me until I was rock hard and confused as hell.

I remembered
when she turned around, the satisfied look on her face almost pissed me off. She’d known exactly how turned on she made me, and proceeded to lay a gigantic kiss on my lips meant solely for Katrina.

That night, we skipped the after-prom party to
lie out on the dock that jutted into the lake in my backyard, sharing a six-pack of Pabst.

After a couple of beers, I began to forgive her for the act on the dance floor.

“You’re the purtiest knocked-up prom date ever,” I teased.

She took a long drink before settling the can over a knot in the wood between us. “
Max didn’t use anything. I was so afraid I was really pregnant. But I’m not,” she added softly.

I pulled her into my arm
s, reaching for a long, curly strand of her golden-auburn hair to twist around my finger. “He’s a prick.”